


The Three Cabs and el Clásico del Pacífico

by AJtheBlueJay



Category: Disney Duck Universe, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017), Legend of the Three Caballeros (Cartoon), The Three Caballeros (1944)
Genre: Copa América, Football | Soccer, Gen, Humor, Rivalry, Sports, zine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26539768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJtheBlueJay/pseuds/AJtheBlueJay
Summary: The Three Cabs spend a day cheering on the most heated rivalry in South American soccer.Originally published in the Patinos Zine.
Relationships: José Carioca & Donald Duck & Panchito Pistoles
Kudos: 29





	The Three Cabs and el Clásico del Pacífico

**Author's Note:**

> It was an honor to get to work on a DuckTales zine that shows off the best of mine and my fellow artists' Latine culture. Make sure to get a free copy of the Patinos Zine for great fanart, fanfic, and memes (https://twitter.com/PatinosZine2020/status/1306309894363021312?s=20)!

If you’ve ever been to Bahia, you’d quickly realize that soccer was a religion. There, the moving of a ball into a net had the power to make people weep in sorrow or jump for joy. And both were on display at the Copa America, the soccer event that practically shut down the whole of South America.

The stadium in Rio de Janeiro was packed to the brim with rabid spectators lucky enough to witness this year’s final between Peru and Chile, one of the continent’s most heated rivalries. Among them was Brazilian native José Carioca, and his other two Caballeros, Mexican soccer superfan, Panchito Pistoles, and American soccer newbie, Donald Duck.

And if anyone truly experienced the full spectrum of jumping for joy and weeping in sorrow this tournament, it was really José. He weaved his way to his seat with his compatriots embittered, despondent, and slightly hungover. His native Brazil had put up a grand fight yesterday in their semifinal against Peru, but it came down to penalties, where one bad strike had put a swift wall between them and the cup, paving the way for Peru.

It had taken a lot of convincing this morning to even get him to the stadium for the final, José having slept his disappointment away through the 3rd place match, which Brazil won. It was paltry compensation. But in the end, his love of the beautiful game won him over, and his friends helped him to see that. What amazing people they were. He’d do anything for them.

He still arrived in a Brazil jersey, though. Petty? Yes. Did José care? Not a bit.

“Don’t you feel even a little out of place?” asked Donald as they sat down, looking at how José’s yellow shirt stuck out like a sore among the sea of white and red around them.

“My friend,” José began, his tone stoic, “we should be here. So no, I do not feel out of place.”

Panchito leaned over to Donald and said, “ _ Caramba, _ I fear there’ll be no living with him for a good long while at this point. Might as well get used to it.”

José remained seated while the national anthems played, unfazed by the massive gathering of voices singing the pride of their two countries, nor the dirty looks he and his friends were given by a couple choice patrons around them. At last, the two teams were in position, the ball was at the center, and all that was left to do was kickoff and begin the biggest match of the year.

With the shrill pitch of the ref’s whistle, the stadium erupted again, and set about cheering on their teams to victory. José allowed his mind to wander away from his bitterness and slowly but surely began to enjoy the game with his friends. Donald, in particular, had by this time come to really appreciate the world’s game much more richly. When they arrived, he was a poor soccer novice, unsure of the difference between even a yellow and a red card. But game by game, the Caballeros would guide him through the game’s intricacies, so that now he was one of them, cheering just as loud and getting just as passionate over the beauty going on down on the pitch.

Panchito thought the Peru offense was magic to witness this year. He would constantly brag about how they were finding openings where there seemed to be none, always passing to the right players, and launching relentless strikes the goalie was an inch away from letting slip.

By the start of the second half, Panchito was lamenting, “Surely they must score!”

“I dunno,” said Donald, pointing out a Chilean parrot, guarding a Peruvian player searching for someone to help him out. “Chile’s been putting up a pretty good fight.” Donald had always marveled at the Chilean’s ability to squeak goals in on spectacular setpieces. Whenever they lined up for a corner, everyone was in the right place at the right time for someone’s head to meet the ball. And of course, their goalie had been on fire all tournament, pulling off quick fire saves that anyone else would’ve balked at. This was athleticism the likes of which Donald had never seen before.

The crowd’s gaze was suddenly drawn to a shrill whistle and the same Chilean player on the ground, holding his shoulder. “BOOK HIM!” Donald shouted, pumping his fist in rage. Indeed, the yellow card was shown to Peru and a penalty kick was awarded. The whole stadium held their breath as a Chilean cockatoo lined up to take his shot.

The whistle, then the runup, then the shot! The ball fired left while the goalie went right. The crowd roared its approval, and even José was jumping up and down in elation. “That’s what they get!” he yelled, hugging his friends. Donald and Panchito looked at each other and shrugged.

By the time the ref blew the final whistle, the reverberation of that one penalty had truly made itself known. Peru could not put one on the board, and Chile had taken the cup. Walking out onto the pitch, they all lined up to receive their medals, and then, a crow in a suit made his entrance, carrying the shiny silver trophy glazed in red streamers. The captain shook hands with the crow and gratefully took the trophy in his hands. The entire team crouched then all jumped up in unison as the captain hoisted his country’s prize. The crowd roared and jumped along with them, seemingly shaking the stadium to its foundation with celebratory noise, singing and dancing.

The sky, dotted with soccer’s finest stars, looked down upon the Three Cabs as they conversed in the stadium parking lot. “Thanks a lot for bringing me out, guys,” said Donald, “I had an amazing time, and I think I have a new favorite sport!”

Panchito nudged José in the side. “We did it,  _ amigo! _ We converted him, eh? YAWOO!” he crowed, pumping his fist.

José chuckled. “Always nice to meet a new lover of our pride and joy.”

“Hey, I think we’re hosting the World Cup next year,” said Donald. “You guys wanna fly over then and do this again? I think I could butter uncle Scrooge enough to get us tickets.”

“My friend, you’re crazy,” said José, “but I sincerely hope you can make it happen.”

“You watch me! This time next year, we’ll be sitting in the McDuck Arena cheering on the USA and Brazil!”

Panchito huffed. “ _ ¡¿Qué?! _ Why not the USA and Mexico?”

“Or perhaps Brazil and Mexico?” José chimed in.

The three collapsed in laughter and walked off holding each other’s hands. There was plenty of time to bet on the future when they reached it. For now, it was party time! And if you’ve ever been to Bahia, you’d know that if soccer was their religion, the two churches were the stadium, and the local pub.


End file.
